"There is something so awful, something so gross about watching someone who loves you struggle to believe what you both know, deep down, is partially a lie."
When I tell you that I love you, do you really believe me? Do you see the questions in my eyes? Can you feel the uncertainty? Do you wonder if I'm lying, like I wonder if I am?
I always wonder what I look like when I lie. I'm not particularly apt at lying, to be honest with myself. I could never pretend to sleep well enough to not get caught with consciousness when my parents came to check on me. Not once have I fought back tears while simultaneously insisting that "no really, I'm fine" without everyone within a 5 mile radius calling my bluff. So when I tell you that I love you, can you see that I'm wondering if that's really true? Can you tell that I don't know if I've ever really loved anyone, truly and wholly? Maybe I love you, but can you tell that it's not the passionate, need you, want you, can'tbewithoutyou love that I've sought my whole life and will never settle without? Can you read me like I read you?
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